2:34

You start to wonder what happens when you're taken off the menu? Silly because you were never on the menu. Too bland, too ordinary, too salty from all the crying. And so you go to sleep and dream and wander. In your dreams you meet all the words that failed you and all the words that sufficed. What if I try harder as I did a long long long time ago? You kick the thoughts around like dirt, they make nice little explanations for how you feel. But it's still dirt, the heavier form of dust and smoke, the common and unwanted form of ordinary. You shrug your shoulders, you sigh, you spread your self as thinly as a veil on a mountain of thorns. You do all the things you've learned so well to do everytime you feel this way.

The Weight of Friendship

While you were tracing some odd and secret letters on the back of your date, your elbow was resting on my knee. You're light of frame and I could carry you easily over whatever made you cry earlier in the evening. You didn't explain, and rightfully we didn't ask for any explanation, we only know that your eyes are red because you cried a few minutes before we met you -- for the first time. Your elbow and arm and back are warm and heavy with intent. Finally, you moved so close we were sharing one seat. Until finally you were sitting on my hand. You are not heavy, it's my friendship with your date that weighs more on my heart.

Self Distract Sequence

Ironing out the wrinkles. Washing out the stains. Taking out the trash. Putting the house in order. Airing out the rugs. Hanging the linens for everyone to see. Actions speak louder than words.

Unrequieted Life

Unrequited Life
You sharpen ten pencils / and wonder how much wood will you shave/ to undress an idea of hope/ that you have something important to write/ and say.

You undress someone/ and ask yourself "How many times have I seen this scene?"/ How many times will you fight the urge to ask that someone/ "How many times have you done this scene?"/ done it for countless others/ who have given up on the notion that/ making two cups of coffee in the morning/ is infinitely better / if someone else takes the second cup :)

Nothing is new.

But the questions are bigger than the answers / as big as sharpening pencils / or shopping for a certain shade of green/ in the sport shirt you normally buy/ and wear/ if only to describe / another shade of boredom/ another trick to bait someone / to compliment you on your excellent taste.

You can stretch your soul just before it rips / and not cover half of Megamall / boil explanations for sadness / and not trick an ounce of comfort / sit at Oprah's feet / and not befriend anyone / including yourself:(

These are the distances between stops / afternoons between meals / the only day before that certain night / before the constancy of spring collections give way/ to the inconvenient suspicion / that you won't be there next time / no more invitations / no more front row seats / no more tomorrows.

Walk into each morning / like it's been washed the night before / bring out the Limoge and use them/ wear that new pair of Prada's today / dispose your disposable income the day after payday!

Rally/ at least sometimes rally to believe / that good china will never chip / that there's a refund for well worn and worn out shoes / that shopping is wiser than taking out life insurance policies / in those brief times ask all questions / but don't wait for answers / or the next big sale.

Tantrum

I want honey and salt and cheese, I want soft tofu between my toes. I'll have it one way or the other, every which way. In back allies and foyers. In light or darkness I'll have it. Named and unnamed I'd want it. I don't need names nor the consequences between names. I'll take it fast, slow, all the way or somewhere before it is complete. I'll take it before the oven pops it out. In thaw, in winter on the streets and on top of graves. No place can be more sacred or less sacred. I don't care. I want it without time, without counting. It can be sudden or planned. I don't want protection or caution. I want the stranger before I get off on the last stop or the first stranger I meet before coffee and clarity. I want to have what everyone is having. I want what I'm not having. I want what soldiers have on the eve of wars. I want their desperation, and mess. Last suppers and last meals. From the guards and wardens, from the witnesses and priest. I want to mess up my sheets because I want to fail and fall --as long as I'm having some. Anything. It can be as poets would have it, or lovers call it, or foolish spirits believing there's a clue to falling leaves. Spoken for, paid for, stolen, forced, given freely. It may change me completely or leave me as it found me. By blood and ashes. By the curses and promises. I want that sugar drop and lemonade like a bad finger pointing north. I will not go out and look for it. I want it sent to me, in the biggest Tiffany box. White ribbons in bows tied by the sales lady of the universe. I'm not settling for a half-baked half-ass, I want the whole shebang. I won't take no for an answer. I won't take maybe for an answer. I don't want later. I'm going to bawl until I'm heard and kick the shins of heaven to get what I want.

Base Jumping

Jump off a precipice with parachutes and cords tied to your legs and the wind. Swim with sharks. Smoke. Drive madly in the rain. Don't look three seconds beyond these moments or you will learn the biggest lesson of the future- fear. Blink and you will miss the moment when you are most alive. Know now. Don't look back or you will find all the wives of Lot, frozen and salty. Love somebody and be the greatest daredevil in God's little side show. Jump hoops of fire over twenty trucks full of heartaches. Lie against the wall behind the light we are told not to walk into. Go to places where only love and death can be found. We are too dim and foggy, we can't see beyond our outstretched hands. Tomorrow I will set someone's mind on fire. I promise to choose my enemies carefully but love wantonly. I promise to create images using the bones of my hesitations. I promise to swallow.

Even the most delicate words kindly turned and phrased would crush these fragile days.

Unlisted Life

Monday. A list of things to do. Have to do. A list that goes as far back as childhood chores. Chores. Requirements. A list that tethers days and endless days all the way to judgment day when we will receive all the lists we've made in life. A mountain of post its, a sky scraper of planners, even all the little gum wrappers where we wrote the weekend's list of things to do will be returned to us. For the Palm users, they will receive a super DSL download of every things to do lists they've done; through their belly buttons,the human USB port. And when all of these lists are handed to each and everyone of us, we will finally understand the original meaning of the word COMPENDIUM. Not just a short list of things, but the weight of all things done in a lifetime of must do and have to do. Where are the lists of joys and things to enjoy? Where are the lists for things we need not do? Lists and labor are twins. When I was a freelance "everything" there were days when I had nothing to do but be. It was a life of short-life decisions. It was like watching the decay of atoms. Where should I eat today? Will I go to the mall or watch TV the whole day? It was an unlisted life with momentary tasks to do. Panic came once in a while, list-withdrawal symptoms I called them. But it was bliss. I need to get off the listed life again. OK, I will make a list of things to do to get to a point where I don't need to make a daily list of things to do. Sigh. Monday is the devil's holiday for sure.